


Together

by Random_ag



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: M/M, Rebirth, Two Minds One Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 08:02:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14745020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: In the puddles you're nothing, nothing at all.Barely a voice that screams in agony, lost in a hellish choir.The Prophet knows this.





	Together

He’d been screaming.

Yelling, crying, shouting.

Wondering what had he done to his Lord to deserve this.

To be trapped in a constantly moving, fluid darkness, together with hundreds of other voices he could almost recognize, but not quite.

Wave after wave of laments and sobs, of shouts and prayers, of mumbles and sighs.

No time, no space, only motion and voices, motion and voice. Boiling and shifting and sliding on each other, and so he did too.

No body, no flesh, only ink and minds let loose spouting words without filter, again, again, again, again, to fill the void that they felt, they void of those with no body, no flesh, no brain of their own.

Shifting and sliding, shifting and sliding.

Until he came.

He was a he, his voice allowed to understand, a he very young, younger than most of the mouthless words thrown in the flow.

And he was crying so hard, one could almost see his tears.

“ _I didn’t want to die!_ ” he couldn’t stop sobbing, “ _I didn’t want to die!_ ”, and something deep in the ink felt the remains of a heart clench.

He knew that voice! He knew him! And never before had he been so glad he’d find him again.

What was his name, what was it?

But the other voices had joined his despair.

 _We didn’t want to die, we didn’t want to die_ , they repeated, melacholic, angry, mad with pain and sorrow.

“ _What did I do?_ ” he asked, louder, that voice once so cheerful, naive, so broken in pieces of scared pain, “ _What did I do to deserve to die?_ ”.

 _What did we do? What did we do_?, the hellish choir joined in,  _What did we do to deserve this, oh Gods?_

But he needed quiet! He needed to call for him, to come next to him, to… to… !

The Wave.

It came, suddenly, out of nowhere.

And silence fell with it.

A second to think. To remember.

In silence.

“Wally!”

Something in the silent, still ink turned as if to face him.

But with every Wave comes the Backwash.

His answer was eaten by the increasing voices, the tide dividing them.

No. No, no, no, no, no, he wasn’t going to leave him alone.

He shifted and moved and slided over currents of nothing, shifted and moved and slided between forms without shape, shifted and moved and slided until those familiar sobs were drenching his ears.

He grabbed him (he really did feel his hands as if he had them again, grasping something solid, something  _alive_ ) and held him close, calling him over and over while what was left of them twirled around itself, seeking comfort and sweetness and touch that it had been denied for so long.

They held and danced like that, caught up in a weird feeling, like relief, sadness and fear all together, and they kept repeating each other’s name, afraid they’d forget them.

And then…

They were out.

They opened their eyes to a dim light that almost blinded them. A hand flew over Sammy to protect him from the brightness, but it wasn’t his. He looked around.

He was alone, on a wooden floor.

Laying out of the ink, in a body.

A not quite solid, but stable body.

He had escaped the well.

And he was out.

Alone.

“Sammy!”

“Wally?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m… I’m here, where are  _you_?!”

The hand moved following the musician’s will, and another grabbed it, scared. Inky. Attached to an arm that ended in his shoulder.

“You’re… We’re…”

“One.”

They closed their eyes, returning to the darkness they already knew. Slowly adapting to it, they realized they were sitting, and turned. Shaped by the ink they recognized their familiar silouettes.

And faint, in the back of their head, echoed the well of voices they’d left behind.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I wouldn’t if I could.”

They were slow, trying not to hinder each other’s movements, as they wrapped their new pitch black body in their new arms.

It wasn’t the most comforting embrace, but they could  _feel_ it. The touch, the pressure, the sloppy yet somewhat concrete texture of the ink that covered them as skin. The wooden floorboard on which they laid, the fingers testing their tendrils, the knees curving when they stood up.

They were far from perfect. But they were something.

Some _one_.

Instead of a pair of voices crying in the puddles.

“What should we do?”

“Find someone. Something. Get out of here.”

“Henry.”

“Who?”

“Henry, he’s here. Somewhere. He gave me a bone. I think I lost it.”

Henry, Henry, Henry.

Their memories overlayed, mixing and comparing themselves.

Two images matched.

Henry, Henry… ?

“Yes! I’ve seen him too!”

“You have?”

“He must be well. He’ll know what to do. We must look for him.”

“Why?”

“He’ll set us free.”

“Free? Outta here?”

“Yes. Away from this place, from this ink, from the voices, from everything.”

“Away?”

“He will finish this. He will kill us.”

“I don’t want to die!”

“We must.”

“I don’t want to die!”

“It’s the only way. We’ll go to heaven! And there won’t be anymore suffering.”

“No more?”

“No more. We’ll be far away from this hell, forever.”

“Forever?”

“Yes, forever.”

Wally’s trembling breaths became deeper, calmer, quieter.

“And we won’t have to die anymore?”

“We won’t.”

The janitor grabbed the right arm and squeezed it hard. The musician sweetly caressed the left shoulder.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Then… Then, it’s ok to die just one more time, if it’ll be the last.”

“It will. Trust me.”

They inhaled in unison, more to steady their nerves than to breath.

Glowing eyes opened a little, and then more, as they adjusted to the light they’d met outside of the blackness.

Right, left, right, left. Sammy, Wally, Sammy, Wally.

Walking like that was easier than expected.

They left the room that had seen their rebirth in a mangled but single body, each holding the other both in and out of their mind.

A voice made out of two left their inky mouth.

_Let’s go find him._


End file.
